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A rough palm hooks under my exposed leg to lift it high around Bryce’s hip, deepening the angle of his erection against my cleft. His other hand cradles my face, thumb rubbing tenderly while his lips drop light kisses on my bruised cheek, my sore forehead, the side of my lip, and the tip of my nose.
The contradiction of his insistent, grinding hips and sweet mouth is so blissful, I want to scream more, more, more.
“I told you to leave. Why didn’t you leave when I told you to leave?” His face is so close, our lips graze while he speaks.
“Because you haven’t kissed me yet,” I answer honestly.
As if the sentence punches him, Bryce inhales sharply before declaring, “I’m kissing you now.”
Bryce’s embrace tightens. Our mouths lock in a passionate reunion. His lips are soft and seeking one moment, urgent and insistent the next. Something inside me blooms when our tongues tangle and stroke. One of Bryce’s hands slides into my hair and cradles my nape to tilt our contact at a new, deeper angle.
The delectable sensation of being both treasured and plundered overwhelms me. My nails dig into his shoulders to find leverage as I swirl my hips. The demanding quality of his grip awakens me to my own needs. My breasts ache and my center throbs.
Our past kisses were incredible, but this is neither better nor worse, because it belongs in a separate category of carnal need. He’s frantic and wild. I’m eager to be the recipient of all his passion. A groan rumbles between us and I trap the sound in my mouth, devouring him like a person who hasn’t eaten in days.
Some part of me sends off a warning. Danger. Point of no return. But it’s like a rescue flare sent in the middle of a vast ocean. An insignificant flash over an endless body of water that swallows everything into itself. Being with Bryce tonight is like that ocean. Endless and all-encompassing.
I finally understand what people mean when they say a kiss is transformative. This one changes me from a girl to a woman.
Her lips are like cherries at the height of summer, sweet and succulent. If, in the past, I modulated our contact to ensure Ana’s pleasure, now I’m only thinking of myself. Greed fuels the deep sweep of my tongue. Desperation drives me to suck her lower lip hard.
I take and take and take.
To my surprise, Ana submits to each of my unspoken commands. As our kiss deepens, I explore impossibly silky skin. My cock is hard against my zipper, my hips swirling on their own. When my fingers touch the edge of her thong, she makes the sexiest sound between a sigh and a moan.
“Touch me. I want you to touch me… there,” she whispers.
“Anastasia.” Her name might as well be a prayer. It conveys my greatest wish spoken to a deity. That’s what she is to me: what I want and who I worship.
Running a finger along her inner thigh before grazing the source of her wetness, I say, “Need me to soothe you where you ache?”
“Yes. I need you.”
Those words are a lightning strike that pierces my veins, igniting my blood.
“I bet you’re hot and ready for me. Perfect for me. Eager for me to touch you. Is that it, Ana? Want to know what a man’s touch can do to your perfect body?”
Her breath hitches like she’s shocked. I’ve never spoken to her this way before, having only ever shown the tender side of my affection. Whatever tenderness I feel is still inside me, although it’s currently overshadowed by raw, undiluted lust.
She pulls away so I can see her beautiful face. With lipstick smeared around her mouth and mascara running down one cheek, she’s a gorgeous mess. There’s never been a more incredible sight than Ana vulnerable and desperate, wanting me nearly as much as I yearn for her.
“I do, Bryce. Please.”
The tendrils of my leash snap when she begs. I kiss her even harder and grip her hips mercilessly. Ana’s body crushes to mine and her mouth widens to take me deeply. My hands roam and my mind blanks.
Everything falls away except the feeling of Anastasia Petrov bracing me between her legs. My fingers caress the edge of her thong. She tilts her hips just enough so I graze her hot, silky folds. She’s fucking soaked.
A high-pitched sound penetrates my brain, like a twisted version of a celebration hymn. Unfortunately, knowing what her pussy feels like has turned me into a delusional idiot who thinks there is a choir of angels in my head. Nope. No hallelujahs.
Only sirens piercing the summer air as emergency vehicles approach. Something urgent and potentially dangerous to the woman in my arms is outside. The only job more important than pleasuring her is keeping her safe.
“Stay here,” I order. “And lock the doors while I check on what’s happening.”
“I’m coming with you!”
“Ana, for once would it kill you to do what I ask?”
“This is my home! The people outside are my guests. I have a right to know what’s happening.”
